From Childhood's Hour
by archangelraphaelsdaughter
Summary: Prequel to A Waking Dream of Life and Light. The Final Battle has finally arrived, but things don't always go as expected. As Harry struggles to defeat Voldemort, he finds that one spell can change everything. One shot Vamp!Harry AU after fifth.


**Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter; anything you may recognize belongs to people far greater than us - namely JK Rowling and co. The lines in italics are from the poem 'Alone' by Edgar Allan Poe - the ones that rhyme, anyways.**

**Warning: Contains mild gore and general angst. This story is not for the faint of heart.**

* * *

**From Childhood's Hour**

**-~-**

_From childhood's hour I have not been_

Harry Potter paced along the ground, his bare feet whispering through the grass and underbrush in the Forbidden Forest. Morning dew stuck to his pale feet and the bottoms of his torn jeans. A black hoodie covered his sculpted chest; the sleeves stopping just short of his long fingers. His fingernails and toenails were painted black in mourning of those who had already been lost.

Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Cedric Diggory... James and Lily Potter.

_Ron and Hermione._

The number of deaths he had witnessed in his short years was great; the burden only he carried weighed heavily on his shoulders.

He was the famed Boy-Who-Lived; he was the last hope the world had against Lord Voldemort; he was completely alone.

_As others were; I have not seen_

Harry stopped his pacing and raised his head; surveying the army before him. Ethereal green eyes shone as the teen's gaze jumped from face to face. His pale fingers played with the hilt of the sword that hung at his hip – Godric Gryffindor's sword.

Adults and students alike stood before him; ready to fight alongside him.

"Today," Harry said, his breath escaping his lips in misty curls. "Today we fight. Today we take back what is ours." He lifted his eyes, watching as leaves rustled in the wind. His feathery black hair moved as the wind played with it.

It smelled like rain.

"Not all of you are going to survive," he continued, shifting his eyes back to the crowd. "I'm not going to pretend that this is some fairy tale where we all make it back alive." He closed his eyes softly. Thick, dark lashes stood out against the boy's pale face, accented by the deep shadows under his eyes.

"But that doesn't change the fact," he said quietly, "That I will try with all my might to keep you alive."

No one spoke; all listening to the teenager's words.

"I will offer, one last time, to let you leave. This is not your war to fight."

He was met with silence.

The Gryffindor nodded to himself before continuing his pacing.

"Today the war is going to end." Emerald eyes followed the movement of a stray owl. "Even if we lose this battle," he whispered, "We will not go down without a fight."

Order members and Hogwarts students alike subconsciously leaned forward; hanging on the teenager's every word.

"Today," the boy paused, before gracing the Light army with a wry grin. The boy's already sharp incisors seemed to lengthen, becoming keen weapons; reminding all present that the Boy-Who-Lived had, in fact, died.

"Today we show Voldemort why he should fear the Light!"

The army cheered, raising their wands, saluting the beautiful morning sun.

It may be the last one they ever witnessed.

_As others saw; I could not bring_

The army split into groups; coordinating attacks and finishing plans.

Remus Lupin, the last remaining Marauder, slipped away from the crowd to join the young vampire.

"Your inspirational speeches are getting better," he joked, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Harry turned, smiling wanly at the werewolf.

"I should be doing this alone."

Remus couldn't stop the sigh that escaped his lips. How many times had he had this argument with the stubborn child?

"This isn't only your burden to carry," he said quietly, cupping the boy's cheek tenderly.

The vampire relaxed slightly, leaning into the touch. Remus was all he had left in this world. The werewolf meant more to him than anyone; he was the only family he had.

Green eyes met with amber.

Their relationship was strange; both knew that fact. Remus was like a father to Harry; but it was so much more than that.

They had both been outcasts; neither of them were accepted by their own kind.

Remus was too tame for the werewolves; too kind and passionate.

And the vampires wanted nothing to do with the hero of the Light; with the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived.

The wizarding world accepted werewolves and vampires as people; of course – how could they not when their fabled saviour was one such creature himself? – But the two _understood_ each other unlike anyone else would ever be able to comprehend.

They were both monsters.

Green eyes closed.

_My passions from a common spring_

Harry's army split into many different directions as the group headed toward what was once Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The factions were going to attack from all angles; Harry would lead his group through the front, parting with them only once inside the school.

Voldemort was _his_.

As of that moment, they remained unseen. The Dark Lord was unaware of the upcoming battle; but there was a very high chance that he was still prepared. One never knew what to expect when Tom Riddle was concerned.

The group reached the Entrance Hall through a secret passage. Harry nodded to the members of his team – Fred, George, Remus, and Snape – and drifted into the shadows. If their plan was going to work; if they were going to catch the Dark Lord by surprise, then they would need all of the stealth Harry's vampiric self had to offer.

Lord Voldemort had taken over the school for more than one reason; Harry knew that better than anyone else. He had taken it because it was a symbol of hope to the wizarding world, much as Harry himself was. He had taken it because it was once the safest place in the world. He had taken it because it was a trophy, a symbol of triumph because he had killed Dumbledore – the one wizard who could truly match him. But those were not the only reasons why he had stolen Hogwarts from the world.

He had taken the school to protect the Horcrux hidden in its walls; the only one remaining of the original seven.

And Harry knew where it was.

_From the same source I have not taken_

The vampire slunk through the shadows, dashing silently through the corridors. He quickly ascended the stairs, heading for the seventh floor.

He hastened down the corridor; passing by an old tapestry that showed Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls how to dance ballet. He stopped; turning around and passing by the tapestry a second time, thinking deeply. Finally, he turned on his heel, passing by the tapestry a third and final time.

A door appeared before the vampire.

Harry quickly crossed the threshold into the Room of Requirement, eyeing with disdain the city of lost possessions.

He hurried through the aisles of books and chests and old bottles and potions, trying desperately to remember where he had hidden that book so many years ago.

Finally he found it – the cage containing the five-legged creature; the large cupboard covered in acid.

He had hidden the book in there; hidden it from his own dark powers.

He didn't want to be in here; he didn't want to remember what he had done.

Sometimes, sacrifices must be made.

_My sorrow; I could not awaken_

Finally he spotted it; the bust that marked his hiding place – the bust that carried a dusty wig and an old, rusted tiara.

Ravenclaw's diadem; the final Horcrux.

Harry reached a pale hand to grasp the diadem, the cold metal burning his hand. He ignored the pain, sliding the tiara off of the wig and holding it gingerly. He stared at the tiara. Despite its ragged appearance, it really was beautiful. And it granted infinite knowledge.

If he could wear it, for just one moment-

Footsteps echoed throughout the room, alerting the young vampire to another's presence. He inhaled sharply, the scent of blood, dust, and dirt – of Voldemort – tickling his nose. His face contorted to that of animalistic fury.

Not now, he couldn't deal with this now. He had to-

"Potter!"

Harry grabbed the sword off his hip, dropping the frail tiara onto the floor. He swung the sword down, stabbing the diadem desperately.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

A flash of bright green lit the large room, colliding painfully with Harry's back. The Sword of Gryffindor clattered noisily to the floor.

The boy collapsed, pain and triumph masking his face.

Lord Voldemort stalked over to the prone form, growling in fury when he saw the broken diadem.

_My heart to joy at the same tone;_

Voldemort kicked the limp body of the Boy-Who-Lived, his face screwed up in a vicious snarl. Red eyes narrowed angrily as the Dark Lord's pale fingers grabbed the body roughly by the hair, wand forgotten. He threw the small figure into a pile of forgotten property, smiling wickedly as glass and books toppled over the body, burying it in a mass of broken glass and torn pages.

The Dark Lord's upper lip curled in contempt. He reached through the broken pile, long fingers roughly grasping the hood of the boy's muggle shirt. He ripped the Gryffindor out of the pile, throwing the body across the room once more. He snarled violently as the body crashed into a cupboard, falling pathetically to the ground.

He stalked over to the body, finally remembering his wand. He pulled it out, levitating the body and throwing it easily across the room. He sent a blasting curse at the body as it floated, sending the boy flying out of the room in a flash of fire and wood chips.

He strode over the threshold, entering Hogwarts once more. He hissed down at the body, kicking it again. Oh, how he wished he could just _mutilate_ this body. But that wouldn't do – of course not. If it looked like he tortured the boy, the world would not know the truth – that the Boy-Who-Lived was a ruddy _coward_, killed as he tried to run away. Voldemort's face crinkled in anger as he stared down at the small body of Harry bloody Potter. Just as he was going to kick the body once more, footsteps sounded through the hallway. Voldemort turned, ready to _crucio_ the fool who dared to disturb the Dark Lord, when his angry red eyes fell upon Severus Snape.

Voldemort smiled cruelly as he stared down his right-hand man.

"Severus," he hissed in a whisper, "What perfect... timing." He motioned delicately to the motionless body at his feet.

Severus looked down at the body, his eyes narrowing slightly. Voldemort was proud to see his obvious hate of the boy.

If only he knew.

_And all I loved, I loved alone_

"Carry his body, Severus," the Dark Lord demanded, motioning once more to the body on the ground. "Show the Light how foolish they are."

Severus nodded as he walked silently toward the Dark Lord, kneeling down and gathering the boy in his arms. He cradled Harry gently against his chest, rising delicately.

"Come, Severus," the Lord hissed, stalking through the halls in a swish of robes.

Severus lagged behind, looking down at the body in his arms.

The boy looked pale – incredibly pale. His hair was a complete mess, sticking out at sharp angles. What was once silky and black was marred by ashes and dust and glass. His famous lightning-bolt scar was a vivid red against his skin. It hadn't been a Horcrux for several years now – Voldemort's soul had left the child's body when he was killed at the Dark Lord's hand. But he had come back – how could he not, after what the vampires had done not hours before?

Severus' long fingers clutched tightly at the still form in his arms. How long would this boy have to suffer? He had lost his family, his friends, every person he had ever loved...

He had lost his life.

He hadn't even been able to finish his education properly. Harry was turned into a vampire at the end of his sixth year – the same night that Severus himself had been forced to kill Albus Dumbledore.

But things hadn't gone exactly as planned. Voldemort had shown up to wreak havoc – he wasn't even supposed to be in the country. But he had shown up with a vengeance, planning to kill two birds that night.

And he had actually succeeded – until the poor boy came _back_.

Except that Harry wasn't the same as he was before. He was in pain – so much pain. It was obvious by the way he held himself. His face was contorted, his eyes shining unnaturally in the pale moonlight. He was slouched horribly, his back curling at an awkward angle, his hands running angrily through his hair.

He hadn't even noticed that his glasses lay at his feet, broken beyond repair.

And he had hissed – actually _hissed_ – at the Dark Lord, canine teeth extended far beyond human proportions.

But the Dark Lord had remained stoic; gazing coolly at the boy before curling his upper lip in an angry sneer and disapparating in a swirl of robes.

And Harry hadn't been the same ever since. He was always in pain; that much Severus could tell. But he had learned to carry himself; to mask the anguish he suffered every second of his immortal life.

And the only one who could see through the Gryffindor's carefully placed facade was the snarky Potions Professor.

"You've lost weight, Harry," Severus said quietly, shifting the small body in his arms to better support the boy's weight. He walked in silence for a few moments before looking down at the still form once more. "But I must say," he continued softly, "Your acting skills have improved splendidly."

Emerald eyes opened into slits, gazing at the man who held him.

Harry Potter winked.

_Then – in my childhood, in the dawn_

Voldemort entered the school's grounds, surveying the battle before him. It hadn't taken him long to notice that Potter's forces had struck; although he had to admit – if only to himself – that the boy was a skilled leader. The Light fought valiantly, but how would they fare when they saw that their precious Boy-Who-Lived was not coming back?

He lifted his wand, sending out a flash of brilliant red light. Death Eaters and Order members alike ceased their fighting, looking to the source of the angry light. They paid no mind to the rain that began to fall down upon them in sheets.

Voldemort's gaze drifted over the grounds, tallying the deaths. Was his army winning or losing? It was hard to tell amidst the carnage. The ground was stained red by blood, littered with bodies – both masked and otherwise. He stared disdainfully at a Mudblood girl who had felled one of his Death Eaters – Lucius, no less – and flicked his wand. Her throat and chest split open violently, pouring blood upon the once fresh ground. She collapsed, dead. Voldemort turned his eyes away. Lucius deserved to have died, if this child could have killed him. She was no older than fifteen.

It was pitiful.

Finally, Severus joined him at his side, the Boy-Who-Finally-Died cradled gingerly in his arms.

"Look at what has happened to your hero," Voldemort said, triumphant. "He was caught trying to escape this battle," he spat, his eyes narrowing angrily. The bloody boy had destroyed his Horcruxes! He deserved to die like this – like a coward.

There was an outcry as Order members attacked once more, throwing the battle back into action; fighting harder than ever before.

"Silence!" Voldemort roared, furious. What _insolence_.

He turned to Severus, the only man he could truly trust; the words to bring forth the boy's body on his lipless mouth.

Except that the man was gone.

_Of a most stormy life – was drawn_

The battle continued around Severus and Harry as the two hid in the shadows of the castle. Obsidian eyes looked worriedly at the vampire beside him. Harry was obviously in excruciating pain. Never mind the fact that Severus _knew_ that Harry hadn't fed in over a week, but the blood around them – and the beating he had quietly taken from Voldemort – had to be taking its toll. And Harry's mask was completely gone; his eyes trailing bloody tears down his pale cheeks, a cool hand placed gingerly over his mouth.

Severus could see the blood dripping down his chin.

Green eyes – more beautiful than Lily's could ever be – looked at him; pleaded with him. _Make the pain stop_, they seemed to stay.

Severus wished he could. He placed a hand comfortingly on the boy's shoulder; withdrawing it immediately when the boy winced.

_From every depth of good and ill_

Voldemort was _furious_. He snarled viciously as he whipped his wand around, taking down three Order members and a Death Eater. All four of them collapsed to the ground, heads rolling loosely on their necks.

They were trash – all of them. His red eyes narrowed angrily. When he got his hands on Severus...

The Dark Lord shivered in excitement. Oh, the things he would _do_ to that filthy half-blood traitor. No one betrayed Lord Voldemort, the greatest Dark Lord of this century, and got away unscathed.

Certainly no one ever got away alive.

Voldemort sneered as he kicked the prone form of an Order member. The body rolled over, revealing the bloody face of one of the Weasley spawn – the youngest child; the girl. Not that it mattered; the Weasleys had so many children, what was one less?

His bare foot stepped on the girl's face, breaking her nose, as he moved on through the mass of fighting bodies. Blood clung to his skin; stained his robes.

He was at home.

The Dark Lord's knuckles turned white from his grip on his wand. He raised his arm, aiming it at anyone and everyone who got in his way, slitting throats and casting killing curses and breaking bones and severing heads from bodies.

He would find Severus. He would find Potter.

He would kill them both.

_The mystery which binds me still:_

Anguish. Searing pain. His whole world was pain.

Always.

But Harry knew that he had to push on. He knew that he was the only one who could save the world – as cheesy as that sounded – from Voldemort. He cradled the chain hanging around his neck; the time-activated Portkey that Snape had given to him moments before. The conditions were very specific. It would only activate if Harry somehow activated the _Priori Incantatem_ again; and then it became a time-activated Portkey that would transport Harry back to 12 Grimmauld place after five minutes had passed, whether Harry won or lost.

Harry found it cowardly, but despite the Potions Master's snarky exterior, he cared for the young vampire.

Fighting the agony that shook his entire frame, Harry stood from the shadows, stalking into the throng of the battle. Within seconds a large Death Eater stood in his way, wand raised in preparation for an attack.

Harry hissed at the masked man, baring menacing fangs. The man faltered; his wand lowering slightly as he took a step back from the vampire.

Harry gathered his muscles and pounced at the man. He buried his sharp fangs in the man's neck, ripping out his throat with a vicious snarl. It was cruel and painful; and the teenager knew this. He wasn't above such an act.

He was a vampire and he wasn't about to let people forget.

_From the torrent, or the fountain,_

Remus looked at his shaking hands; stared in horror at his blood-stained skin.

He had done this; he had taken lives.

He had liked it.

It scared him.

But Merlin, his inner wolf was _howling_. He found he could understand, now, what the werewolves found so appealing about falling into the darkness. He finally understood how Harry felt.

And now he knew why Harry was always so guilt-ridden. The boy's eyes were not shadowed by the usual purple-gray that most vampires – that healthy vampires – bore. His emerald orbs were often shadowed by near-black bruises.

Remus sighed, gripping his wand tightly as he punched a Death Eater squarely in his face; breaking the mask and shattering his nose. Blood sprayed the werewolf, covering his already stained hands.

The Marauder's nose crinkled in disgust. He hated the smell of blood as much as his wolf loved it.

Remus continued on, searching for his next victim.

_From the red cliff of the mountain,_

Severus whipped his wand in a wide arc, whispering, "_Sectumsempra_," as he moved. The spell – his own creation – tore gaping wounds in the Death Eaters, spilling their blood and lives onto the dirt.

He sneered at the lifeless bodies of Voldemort's men. At one time he would have enjoyed such a task; would have felt great peace at watching the blood flowing on the ground.

But things were different now.

Now he was a traitor to both sides of the war; a social pariah. Death Eaters and Order members alike were out for his head; willing to take his life. Now he understood how valuable life was – not just his own; but others as well. He finally could see how far his sacrifices went. No one knew who he was really fighting for.

No one but Harry.

And that's what affected him so much. As much as the Potions Master wanted to complain – as much as he wanted to just sink to his knees and scream at the world for its cruelty – he couldn't. Not when he saw what Harry Potter had lost; what he had done, what he continued to do.

He had hated the boy for six long years – actually loathed his very existence. It only grew worse when he screamed at Severus for killing Dumbledore – as if he actually _wanted_ to kill his only friend.

He didn't know what Harry and Albus had experienced; how was he supposed to know what pain the boy was in? How was he supposed to know that Harry had been hunted by vampires, that in order to protect Albus he had given himself up to them, that they had-

Severus shook himself as an _Avada Kedavra_ flew past his ear, singing his skin and hair. He threw several curses and hexes into the crowd; shattering masks and breaking bones.

The vampires had changed Harry. And then the Dark Lord had showed up and killed him. The boy had been tortured to death by the _crucio_ curse. The last thing the boy had felt was pain.

Which was why that was all that the boy _ever_ felt. It couldn't be easy to carry such pain – every second was complete agony for the boy. Severus had withstood the Unforgiveable for five minutes before and had barely escaped unscathed. He could only _imagine_ what the Gryffindor experienced.

Perhaps the pain disappeared with time. Perhaps it faded in the background; drowned out by the generalities of life. Maybe he only felt such pain when he hadn't fed – such as when he had risen from death.

Severus desperately hoped he never found out.

The Half-Blood Prince raised his wand, a curse on his lips. He fought for the young Gryffindor who would save their world. He fought for his friend and mentor; who had died by Severus' own hand. He fought for the injustice Voldemort wrought on humanity.

He fought.

_From the sun that round me rolled_

Voldemort struck at the Longbottom boy. He slashed his wand in a graceful arc, sending a _crucio_ at the pitiful Gryffindor.

The killing curse was too good for this piece of trash.

The boy screamed as he fell, clawing at the dirt; clawing at his face. Dirty fingernails dug into flesh, pulling and tearing and ripping and bleeding. His weak body curled in every direction; limbs sprawled in sharp and unnatural angles. Rain ran down his body, mixing with the blood and forming crimson puddles.

It was a beautiful sight.

The fight continued around the thrashing body; the armies seemingly oblivious to the screams of the suffering child. There would be no audience to this battle today. It mattered not. Longbottom was going to die either way.

Voldemort held the Gryffindor under the Unforgiveable for another minute before he grew bored of his game. He flicked his wrist, smirking in satisfaction when the boy's neck snapped audibly.

The Dark Lord turned on his heel and stalked through the fighting bodies, sending curses at the enemy whenever possible. He would find Potter, and he would kill him. It would be quick and painless – the way it should have been all those years ago. No more of that silly duelling. He was not going to give the boy a chance to escape his clutches again.

Crimson eyes narrowed in search of the Boy-Who-Refused-To-Die; coming up empty.

Voldemort sneered angrily as he whipped his head around the battlefield. He knew the boy was somewhere; he just had to find-

The Dark Lord's lipless mouth turned up in a cold smile as he stalked toward his prey. He wasn't Potter, but he would certainly do.

Voldemort lifted his wand; aiming it at the oblivious form of Remus Lupin.

_In its autumn tint of gold,_

Remus fought a Death Eater valiantly; abandoning his broken wand. It had been snapped unmercifully just moment earlier; when his last victim had had the gall to insult Harry – his Harry; his cub. The man probably hadn't realized that Remus was a werewolf; that he didn't need his wand to fight.

His fists were just as efficient.

The werewolf struck at the man before him with a clawed hand; fingers digging into the Death Eater's soft throat. He squeezed tighter and tighter – anything to abate his unyielding anger.

The Death Eater screamed behind his mask, clawing desperately at Remus' hand and wrist, trying with all of his life to get the werewolf to _let go_.

All of his efforts only spurred Remus further into his darkness.

Remus felt all of his muscles flex; his lips curling in an animalistic snarl as his fingernails broke through the man's skin, piercing his throat in a burst of blood and muscle. The Death Eater fell; convulsing violently as his life escaped him.

Remus smiled menacingly before turning to meet his next opponent.

Amber met crimson.

_From the lightning in the sky_

Harry felt his arm moving his wand; barely concentrating as his magic slew another Death Eater.

He was growing tired; he couldn't fight like this.

He was already so sore – he couldn't remember the last time he had fed, and there was no telling how much blood he had lost from this battle.

But he continued on, swishing and casting and leaping and lunging and rending and tearing.

It was mechanical, and each movement cost him more of his sanity; his awareness.

There was an awful ripping sound, and Harry felt warm liquid run down his left arm. He stared emotionlessly at the limb; observing as his blood flowed from the bone-deep cut. As he watched the torn muscle sewed itself together, mending seemlessly. He lifted his head one more, staring at the Death Eater before him. The man's arm was still raised, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped. Harry seemed to move in slow motion as he glided toward the man, baring his fangs menacingly.

The Death Eater pointed his wand at his own chest, muttering the Killing Curse.

Anything was better than suffering the wrath of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry snarled in digust; the cowardice displayed was pathetic.

But Voldemort's side was simply tearing down those opposing their Dark Lord's rule no matter the cost; the man had clearly destroyed their regard for their own lives. Those following his lead had a _righteous goal_, and would fight until the end.

They had been fighting for so long...

Harry felt as though a blanket was being dropped on his body, telling him, _it's time to rest, Harry, it's all over now_.

But he fought that blanket. It wasn't over – that much he knew. Voldemort was still alive; he could _feel_ it.

Harry grabbed the head of a Death Eater from behind, twisting violently. A satisfying _crunch_ echoed through the air, and Harry dropped the body unceremoniously. He pushed farther into the battle. Voldemort was in here somewhere; just _waiting_ to be killed. He was-

There was a scream, and Harry felt his head turning; the world seeming to slow down as he was witness to the familiar voice that cried out.

Tired green eyes fell upon Remus Lupin as his body was sliced open; revealing ribs and intestines and his lungs and his heart. The werewolf collapsed onto the ground, oblivious to the rain and the wind. Harry watched in detached horror as the man's blood flowed, as his lungs stopped moving, as his heart ground out its final beat.

Harry heard a cold laugh as the Dark Lord stood over Remus' corpse.

The fog fell from the vampire; emerald eyes snapping to complete clarity and awareness.

Remus was dead – his family was gone.

He was completely alone.

Harry ran, a savage growl escaping from his curled lips.

_As it passed me flying by,_

Severus watched in horror as Remus Lupin fell to the ground, dead. The battle seemed to stop once more as Harry's screams and snarls sounded. Everyone turned to watch the boy as he charged toward Lord Voldemort.

His skin was paler than a ghost's; his hair was sticking out in sharp angles, gelled in place by blood and rain, and his emerald eyes had a crazy look to them. Blood stained his cheeks like tear tracks; stained his lips and his chin.

And in that moment, Severus had never seen anyone more beautiful.

It was a horrible truth, but it was truth nonetheless.

This – this was raw anger; perfect pain.

Harry represented insanity and injustice in that moment, as he lunged at the Dark Lord. Even from a distance Severus could see the boy's chipped and torn nails; could see the blood staining his alabaster skin and the way his clothing was shredded.

But the vampire before him was stunning in all of his suffering.

He was going to win.

_From the thunder and the storm,_

Lord Voldemort had known that killing Lupin was a good idea. What better way to find the Brat-Who-Should-Have-Died-Long-Ago than to have the boy come to him?

The quickest way to do that was to destroy the boy's life. And now he had done that.

But he hadn't expected the vampire to come tearing at him like this. He had expected anger, of course, but not – this. There would be no bragging, as he had anticipated. There would be no casual conversation as he tortured the boy; as he killed him.

One look at Potter, and the Dark Lord knew that he was royally fucked. The vampire was _furious_, and seemed somewhere between insanity and perfect clarity.

Perhaps both.

It was obvious, Voldemort mused, that Potter did not care if he survived. In that moment all he wanted was to kill the Lord.

There was no fear; there was no regret.

Potter raised his wand, already knowing how this battle was going to end.

Voldemort would lose, and they both knew it.

The Dark Lord raised his wand and took what he knew would be his last breath; uttering the one spell that he knew would take his enemy down with him.

"_Avada Kedavra._"

"_Sectumsempra._"

_And the cloud that took the form_

Harry knew, in that instant, that something was going to happen.

His wand connected with Voldemort's once more as he sent his spell at the Dark Lord. He had thought to use Snape's spell to kill the man – thought it would be poetic that the tyrant would be killed by the spell that had been created by his most trusted Death Eater.

It would have been beautiful to watch Voldemort's eyes as he fell; to see that the last thing the man would ever know was how _wrong_ he had been all this time. He had believed that he had killed Harry for good – on several occasions. He had believed that he could win this battle. He had believed that Snape was _his_ man.

He was wrong. Snape was Harry's.

The vampire snarled angrily as the _Priori Incantatem_ swelled between the two wands. He could feel the Portkey around his neck beginning to activate. He had five minutes before it moved him to safety – five minutes to kill this man.

It was all the time he needed.

Harry's will clashed with Voldemort's, both fighting desperately to send the spells against the other.

Light surged between the two men as the battle ceased around them. The outcome was unclear to all but the two who were fighting.

Someone was going to die today, and it wasn't going to be Harry.

Harry had already died.

And he had nothing to lose – not anymore.

He pushed harder as he felt the Portkey warming; becoming an almost unbearable heat.

Even if Harry died, here, he knew that Voldemort would die too. He knew that Snape would make _certain_ that the Dark Lord never breathed again.

_Snape_.

Harry's breath hitched as he realized that if he died he would be leaving the man alone.

It was only then that he realized that he actually _cared_ what happened to him – if only because his death would affect the Potions Master. The man had been like a father to him – like Remus had. Snape had saved his life so much, and he had sacrificed even more. He had taught Harry when the boy had been forced to flee the school; when Voldemort had taken over Hogwarts. Harry knew that if he sat his N.E.W.T.s at that moment, he would undoubtedly pass every test, Snape had seen to that.

The man had prepared Harry for life.

Harry's brow furrowed in anger. He would not die here. Not even if death meant taking the Dark Lord with him.

Voldemort would die on his own, thank you very much.

Harry screamed as he forced all of his being into his wand; as he pushed the two deadly spells at the Dark Lord.

The Portkey around his neck began to glow as the magic backlashed. He watched as Voldemort fell to the ground; he listened to the man's heart as it beat for the final time; faltering and beating no more.

The vampire smiled as he forced his parting words past his lips – because what was an epic battle without the hero muttering something incredibly cliché?

"Life is a game," Harry spat, staring in contempt at the Dark Lord before him. "It's time to play."

The Portkey pulsed a final time; lighting the grounds of Hogwarts with a blinding flash.

The survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts shielded their eyes in a desperate attempt to block out the overwhelming light. Several moments passed before they were able to safely uncover their faces; staring at the remains of the battle.

Voldemort lay lifeless on the ground; his long limbs splayed about in a grotesque manner.

Severus smiled as he witnessed the scene before him. Harry had won. The boy had succeeded.

They were all free.

Severus apparated to 12 Grimmauld place; planning to tend to the young vampire. Others could take care of the wounded; someone else could tally the dead.

Harry's life had been destroyed in that battle. He would need a shoulder to cry on.

Even if they were tears of blood.

Severus' brow furrowed in confusion when he came upon an empty home. Where could the boy have gone? There was no way he would have remained conscious after a battle like that. Just based upon the amount of pure magic that the boy had released, Severus judged that the vampire would remain comatose for several hours at the very least.

So where could he be?

_(When the rest of Heaven was blue)_

Pain.

In that moment, it was all he knew.

It was funny, thinking back, how this trumped even his turning – that feeling of every vein in your body constricting and freezing over, everything within you drawing in and crystallizing yet yearning to burst because of the agonizing fire tearing through. Knowing you were dying, that you were already dead.

It was the acknowledgement of the pain that heightened it; there was no release.

At that moment, what he knew was that behind his eyes there was a pounding that made his head feel as though it was five times its weight. The vehement pulsing made him groan, and he dragged a hand up to block his eyes from the burning light that shone through his eyelids.

Wait...the sun?

Harry bolted upright. The sun couldn't be out. It was raining when he'd killed Voldemort, and—

And he killed Voldemort!

It was finally over, all of it! He was free, completely free! Though...

Where was he?

Harry cautiously drew his hand from over his face, a pained hiss escaping his lips. Damn, the sun gave him such a headache. It was just so _bright_.

Spying a tree through the glaring rays, Harry slunk over to the shade and dropped to the ground once more. His head was killing him. How was he supposed to _think_?

The answer was simple, really. He _had_ to; the pain didn't matter.

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on his cool arms. Before he could figure out how he got here, he had to figure out _where_ here was.

He slowly lifted his head and blinked blearily. The sun must be making him delusional. It wasn't where he was that confused him, really, because he knew that the Battle of Hogwarts had ended here – Hogwarts, that is.

What really confused him was how _clean_ it all smelled.

Just hours ago this had been a battlefield, and if anyone had asked him, Harry could have sworn that he would never be able to get the smell of blood to leave his nostrils. But now...

There was nothing.

The grounds were completely empty; not a body in sight, not a single drop of blood. Hell, even the atmosphere screamed peace. It was almost as if the whole thing had never taken place.

Scratch that. It _was_ as if it had never taken place.

In fact, if he hadn't known any better, Harry would have said the whole thing was some sort of mad dream.

But it couldn't be a dream, because he could still smell the blood on his clothes, could still feel the strain in his muscles.

And he was pretty sure dreams weren't supposed to hurt so much.

Harry sighed, he was getting too distracted, and the sun was impairing him with a headache. Standing warily, in a vain attempt to reduce the pain, he started the trek up to his old school.

Walking across the grounds gave Harry a sense of nostalgia. How long had it been since he had been a student here? The more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't even know what the year was anymore. How long had he been a vampire on the run? No longer the Boy-Who-Lived, but the Man-Who-Survived.

Harry knuckled his eyes as he started up the steps to the great doors of Hogwarts. Why was he thinking so much anyways? It was just making his head pound worse. Every time his foot made contact with the ground, he winced in pain. Why did it have to be so sunny? What had he done wrong?

And why would the wizarding world leave their vampire hero out in the sun, anyways?

That last thought caused a hysterical giggle to burst out of Harry. He wasn't exactly the Boy-Who-Lived anymore, was he? He wasn't _living_ anymore.

Finally, mercifully, Harry reached the doors. He pulled them open and stumbled inside, walking right into Dumbledore.

The old wizard looked at Harry strangely, as if he either couldn't believe Harry was there, or that someone had managed to walk into him.

After a moment of staring dumbfounded at each other, abruptly the force of Dumbledore's twinkling eyes was aimed at Harry.

"And what brings you here, um, ah..." Dumbledore trailed off, the former question issued with kindness ending awkwardly as he realized that he didn't know Harry's name.

Wait, what?

Harry blinked unintelligently for several moments. But, Dumbledore had died.

So then...

"Could you tell me what the date is?"

The old wizard eyed the vampire oddly for a moment, before responding, "August 31st, 1976, if I'm not mistaken."

_Of a demon in my view._

* * *

**_Dray:_ **Brought tears to my eyes _**four **times!!! _FOUR!

**_Vicki: _**Victory is totally mine.

**_Dray: _**You = Sadistic

**_Vicki:_** =3

* * *

**Vicki's Note: This Prequel wasn't quite planned; and I'm not exactly sure how it came about in the first place. In a moment of inspiration I decided that we needed to explain Harry's situation a bit better; and the best way to do that was to show you what happened before _A Waking Dream of Life and Light_ began - why is Harry so angsty, how _did_ he become a vampire (this will be better answered later on in the story), why is he so cynical? These are a few questions I kept asking myself, and found that I needed to write it down. Then I found the poem, and it just fit together. The end result? The longest chapter I've ever written and four bouts of crying from Dray (which I'm actually very proud of).**

**Author's Note: She's quite sadistic. Anyways, she hopes it made you cry too. Review and tell us how you liked it!! ;3**


End file.
